


No return

by Space_Samurai



Category: Daybreak (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Drama, Friendship, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai
Summary: "Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?" He asks. The answer is silent. Turbo can’t speak, but a simple look sends the message.Hell no.-The Turbo/Wesley affair goes on for a bit longer.





	No return

**Author's Note:**

> When I realized that Daybreak only has like 5 fics, I thought "Fine, I'll do it myself!"

Life after a nuclear-holocaust could be worse and it couldn’t be weirder. He lives in a shopping-mall, his freaking room is an Urban Outfitters and though it’s an odd scenario for his journey to redemption to develop, Wesley is cool with it. He gets to play samurai and dress like he just escaped from a graphic novel.

Hell, his outfit is pretty tame compared to some he has seen. The Jocks have seen Mad Max too many damn times, the Disciples of Kardashia already dressed like that before the apocalypse and the Cheermazons are living a power fantasy that he wholly approves of (excepting the part in which they kill all men, no thanks). Adults wouldn’t be half as cool about it.

Well, it doesn’t matter how much Wesley likes his clothes (and how much care he puts in not staining them with Ghoulies guts) they always end up in the floor of the fabric before he can say ‘hey mate’ Not that Wesley is complaining.

Turbo may look hella good in his post-apocalypse Mad-Jock-Max clothes, but they are pretty damn hard to take off. And pretty ridiculous too, but Wesley doesn’t sneak out of the mall to discuss his boyfriend’s fashion choices. And sooner than not, Turbo’s clothes end on the floor too.

He wonders if anyone suspects of this affair. Mona is not an idiot, if money were still worth anything, Wesley would bet his that she knows something. She could smell weakness a mile away and could tell when you’d slack on leg-day behind her back. It was a wise choice of Turbo to have her as his second in command. A part of him is relieved with knowing that Turbo would be as screwed as him if word got out that they were together.

Not _as _screwed as him, perhaps.

When Wesley closes his eyes, he can see Josh’s trusting smile and he doesn’t know which secret would hurt the other guy worse. That he and Angelica staged Sam Dean’s death or that he’s sleeping with the enemy. His guilty conscience haunts him during the nights with a voice that sounds specifically like RZA. Not only because of Josh and the guys at the mall.

_Curtis. Tom. Barbra. Grisby. Medici. Gray._

Wesley closes his eyes, trying to keep their faces from showing up on his head. You can’t help who you love, he tells himself. And again, his path to redemption doesn’t has to be a straight one (no pun intended). It’s the damn end of the world, he’s allowed to have some happiness where he can find it.

"Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?" He asks the other boy one day, when they are laid on their backs on top of the bear rug and staring at the ceiling of the fabric. The answer is silent. Turbo can’t speak, but a simple look sends the message.

_Hell no._

A smile pulls from his lips involuntary. At least he can trust Turbo to be direct with what he wants. That has never been a problem with the other boy.

He raises one of his hands and caresses the side of his neck, the burnt side. Turbo shudders against him, Wesley fights a swell of pity. It was by sheer luck that he hadn’t ended like him. He had been a few meters away from the range, back at the field _–where Emmet had been laying._

Pity becomes bitter at the back of his throat. He refuses to think what would have been of his cousin, his best friend, if Wesley had done the right thing. If it hadn’t been for that broken ankle, maybe Director Lecter wouldn’t have feasted on him.

His hand leaves Turbo’s marred flesh, retreating back to his own cooling body. He still has to feed the Ghoulie bastard, despite Turbo’s insistence that he should kill him and be over with it. Wesley had argued that the man was his excuse to leave the mall during the day, so Turbo had to shut up and take it.

A sound leaves Turbo’s lips. Wesley found his eyes; _stay_, they seemed to plead. Wesley swallowed, sitting on his toes as he puts his clothes back on. He hears Turbo grunting, but he too gets up and goes for his clothes. Mr. McCannibal is whistling a cheery tune from afar and Wesley does his best to ignore it. He gets enough commentary from his personal RZA voice.

* * *

Life at the mall is pretty good. Blasting music is a no-no, but they have a ton of electronics shops to pick headphones from. There’s an endless amount of weed that just keeps appearing (it’s not even a joke, Wesley is only responsible for a quarter of it, his eyes are on KJ or in Other Gay Josh) and slushies prevail, so everything is cool. Josh has a big jar of Nutella that he thinks he’s good at hiding, but Wesley can forgive it because he doesn’t has that much of a sweet tooth. It has nothing to do with his guilt, nope.

They go on a supply run to Walmart and bring back only the greasiest, not-Jock-approved food. Wesley indulges, and averts Eli’s eyes when the guy brings out protein shakes, that he must have found on the mall’s gym. Those bring too many memories. Wesley had not even liked them that much, but Turbo used to have like three per day and he’d inevitably share them with Wesley when he stayed the night.

A routine settles in. During the day, Wesley helps in everything he can (kills mutant-cockroaches, mutant-rats, common rats), gets stoned with Eli of all people (better to keep the little bastard close), then heads out to feed Hannibal, comes back and tries to convince Josh that his relationship with Mop-Sam Dean isn’t healthy and he needs a good wank, then has dinner with the rest of the mall kids (they are starting to work on a name for their tribe) and finally sneaks out during the night.

Yes, he is an idiot. Yes, it was bound to go wrong eventually.

He arrives to the cereal factory with his heart beating wildly against his chest. His skills with the sword are mad, but Wesley is only human. During the night, the Ghoulies get sneaky and the hordes are harder to see. Luckily he came out untouched, if a bit jumpy.

He can’t stop thinking about it, even later, when Turbo has his lips on his neck and a hand inside his pants. All he sees are the Ghoulies faces coming at him and what might have happened if he got caught. That wasn’t the death of a warrior, no sacrifice for his friends or glorious battle. That was the death of a traitorous whelp who just wanted to get laid.

The guilt claws at him until he has to push Turbo away and sit up. He can make Turbo’s worried gaze through the shadows and he looks down at the floor, quiet unlike himself. Fuck, this was supposed to be a good time. Turbo’s hand finds his face, his callous hands caressing his cheek. Wesley loves and hates moments like this, they take him back to what things used to be and what could have been.

_No kid. _RZA argues, tired of his slash drama. _You chose him over yourself, that’s the only ‘could have been’._

It wouldn’t bother him so much if it weren’t true.

He returns to the mall with his head down. In the morning, as he shares breakfast with Josh, Angelica and Ms. Crumble (who happily eats living worms), he swears on his honor that he won’t go back tonight. An annoying voice in the back of his head, not RZA for a change, argues that he has none. Wesley Fists ignores it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
